


Candles

by TheCanStander



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, F/F, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, depictions of torture, idealogically sensitive material, more may be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCanStander/pseuds/TheCanStander
Summary: What if Loki was an asset of Hydra?December 21, 1961, Siberia: A speculated extraterrestrial was found in the woods. With an unusually powerful victim on their hands, HYDRA decides to create another living weapon in hopes of their goals. Surely this would prove worthwhile in the long run.And it does. Loki quickly grows to become one of their most powerful assets - right next to the Winter Soldier, of course. Dubbed "The Green-eyed Devil," many of HYDRA's successes can be linked to the work of the two carefully crafted monsters.But Loki is no ordinary man. He is volatile, more so than his human counterpart, and difficult to restrain. The only thing that can truly hold him back is the Winter Soldier himself, and even then they are evenly matched. Like wolves fighting for the role of alpha, they are, with neither relenting in their battle for dominance.Two broken monsters in a bleak world, there is no one they can seek assurance with - save each other.(This is a heavy WIP. Bear with me as I cannot guarantee consistent updates.)





	1. Canis Metallum

**Author's Note:**

> This is a heavy WIP. I only posted the first chapter now because I didn't want to hold people up. Please be patient with me as I have external factors keeping me from completing this. I speculate this will take me mroe than a year to complete.

           THE WINTER SOLDIER

 

            Siberia was cold.

 

            He had a mission to complete. _Crunch_ went the snow under his boots, the black sinking into white.

 

            There were two unknown targets in the woods nearby. It was reported they were beings of uncanny power. And the Winter Soldier had been sent to kill them or subdue them. The former was preferable.

 

            They had sent soldiers with him. This was not a solo mission.

 

            Snowflakes drifted down, dissolving against his suit. He paid no heed. The other men were far behind him; he himself would go on ahead to scout. If he saw them, he would alert his handlers.

 

            The Winter Soldier quietly crept up the hillcrest. Tall dark trees filled the scene, one of the only contrasting things. Everything else was so pale that it was impossible to see.

 

            Not everything. There they were: two men. Such weirdly ornate outfits. And what looked to be a hunk of metal hung from one of their hips. They were arguing, and he could just barely hear what they were saying.

 

            “-imdall must’ve dropped us in the wrong place.” Went one, smaller in stature and, like the flora around him – for his voice was masculine – was easily distinguishable, given his dark clothing.

 

            “I’ve heard you say that five times now.” The other man growled rashly.

 

            “We should go back.”

 

            He waved to his handlers. They responded with an okay signal and slowly advanced, moving into position. He would take them down, or at least restrain them, before his superiors did. It was protocol.

 

            The assassin crawled closer, tugging the gun off his shoulder and gently shifting it into position. The weapon was cream, close enough to white. Blended in very well.

 

            “Go back? No, surely we should search around for a while longer before we leave. I’m _certain_ it’s around here somewhere.”

 

            “Would father’s followers have really stowed the Tesseract in an area like _this?”_

“Would Sif have admitted you were better than her?”

 

            “…No.” The man shifted his shoulders. The gun was aimed against his head now. He sighed.

 

            “Besides,” The smaller man gently touched the other one’s shoulder, “you’re shivering. You don’t get back now and you’ll be an icicle before you know it.”

 

            “Trust me, brother, I can handle a little cold.”

 

            “‘A little cold,’ my foot. Your face is all red.”

 

            _Click_ went the gun. Both of them froze. They must’ve heard him. The soldier cared not.

 

            “Thor-“

 

            _Bang._ But he missed his target. The darkly-dressed man pushed the other one – ‘Thor’ was his name. – away from the bullet. It grazed the back of his skull, and he sank to his knees with hand clasped against the wound. A humming sound could be heard as ‘Thor’ slid the metal piece out of his belt.

 

            “ _Who goes there?_ Come out now, and you’ll be sorry for hurting my brother!” He snarled. They did not run. They were sitting ducks, waiting to be shot.

 

            He aimed the gun at the taller one’s head this time. By now his handlers had retrieved their guns, and they too aimed for both trespassers. Guns were cocked and bullets flew.

 

            “We’re LEAVING! We’re _LEAVING!”_ The wounded one, hand off his injury, grabbed the named man and towed him away. His brother had no choice but to flee with him. The snow was disturbed by haphazard bullets.

 

            Now they would give chase. The Winter Soldier jumped down, sinking into the cold ice. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and ran. It was difficult. Behind him he could hear the HYDRA men calling to each other, telling them to start moving.

 

            The hunt was on. He wove through the spindly stalks, darkened with winter’s sleep, and jumped over several rocks. His prey too was nimble, they had no problem when it came to escaping.

 

            The smaller man glanced back, grimacing, and he could see that his eyes were emerald, and that his face was pale like the winter itself. Something shiny appeared in his hand, and a swift throw of his arm revealed the weapon heading straight for the assassin.

 

            Naturally, he ducked. But the man’s aim proved truer than expected. Bright red leapt into the air. The cold stung the laceration on his arm. Chasing them would not be wise.

 

            He dropped to his knees and pulled out the gun again. _Click-click,_ and he aimed. His finger pulled the trigger. His opponent stumbled again, the wound on his skull accompanied by another in his back. Surprisingly, he had not fallen. These newcomers were weirdly resilient.

 

            Another bright flash disturbed him. It was too late.

 

            His chest hurt. There were pieces of white plastic like snowflakes flying. The metal hunk that Thor was carrying revealed itself to be a hammer, and it seemed to be powered by supernatural forces, for it flew – _it flew_ – from his hand and back to. The sky was grey, and it was all he could see.

 

            Surely his handlers see that, the uncanny weapon of unhuman origin. He got up, a dull throbbing hindering his recovery. The gun lay smashed a good distance away.

 

            Another one was shoved into his arms. He took it and continued running. The men would begin to fan out now, covering more ground as they did. These strangers would not escape so easily.

 

            There was another hillcrest up ahead, much steeper and daunting than the last. Thor made it first and leapt swiftly over it. The emerald-eyed one took his time.

 

            “Come on!” Went the one named Thor. His companion moved faster now, spurred on by moving words.

 

            But he never reached the hill. For the Winter Soldier had taken his gun, dropping to one knee, and pulled the trigger. And this time he had succeeded.

 

            Crimson flew. Another wound appeared in the man’s back, this one so close to his heart. Like cards the target collapsed to the ground, a broken raven against the white.

 

            _“LOKI!”_ Went a cry from below the hill.

 

            He got closer, boots breaking menacingly into the snow. The gun, now black, was lifted again, aiming at the man that had risen up – _flown_ – with his hammer held above his head. Worry was written on his face as he landed by his friend. He knelt, yes, to inspect the still man, but something stopped him from taking the unconscious man and leaving. Something like horror was written on his face, and his legs straightened to take him away from whatever horrifying thing he’d seen.

 

            Closer he came. Thor looked up. He snarled, torn between his own life and the life of his friend, who may or may not have been close to death already, had he been normal.  More soldiers appeared around him. The man was surrounded.

 

            They fired. He ran, abandoning the body and jumping over the hill again. The Winter Soldier gave chase over the crest of the slope.

 

            But when he landed to attack the stranger, a bright beam of iridescence broke the sky, engulfing his target. He watched, blank eyes staring as the brightness disappeared and he was gone.

 

            Only one target had been taken down. One had escaped, for somewhere.

 

* * *

 

            He came back to where his superiors had gathered and told them of his failure. That seemed to be the least of their concerns, although what he reported caught their interest. Everyone’s attention was truly on the young man that lay below them

 

            He was youthful, not a child, but perhaps one that had been past his youth for a good time now. His hair was like the deepest night, a gentle river of black, and his skin near ivory. Blood seeped from the gunshot on his head.

 

            He looked so young. Like he was twenty.

 

            _Wasn’t I twenty once?_ Went a quiet corner of his head. But that was soon pushed away by his superiors’ voices.

 

            _“He’s not dead.”_ Went one man.

 

            _“I am quite surprised that he survived the soldier’s attempts to take him down.”_ Spoke another.

 

            _“Forget that, why did his companion abandon him?”_ One man, the captain of this operation, knelt down to inspect the man further. _“And what did he refer to him as?”_

_“Loki.”_ Responded the one who questioned Thor’s survival.

 

            _“Loki. Loki…Hm. Like the god of mischief. That’s funny: who or what names their kid that these days?”_

_“A Norse worshipper. Probably.”_ Someone said sarcastically.

_“Soldier, what did he throw at you?”_

The captain was addressing him now. He would respond.

 

            _“A large metal object. Hammer-like in appearance.”_

            _“A hammer… He threw it at you?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And then what?”_

_“He retrieved it. It went to him.”_

Someone at the back of the group coughed pointedly. Immediately all eyes went to him.

 

            “Uh… I have a point to make.”

_“Speak then, soldier.”_

“Er… _He might be…a god? Loki? Thor?”_ He waved his hands, searching for the words needed. But there was no more need for words, for as absurd as his explanation was, the captain had understood.

 

            _“You must think I’m an idiot to believe that the Norse Gods are real.”_

_“Well, sir, I think they might be.”_

_“Where’s the proof?”_

The soldier said nothing, but pointed at the body on the snow.


	2. Non male loquor

THOR

_“LOKI!”_

He flew over to where his brother lay, blood streaming from the potentially fatal wound by his heart. The cold was horrible, but the urgency of the situation made it nothing.

 

Loki had been _shot._ By that cursed Midgardian! He would find that man and rip him apart with his bare hands if need be. No one would escape from his wrath, _especially_ not the one who so boldly fired for his brother’s heart. The rage of vengeance, not war, was boiling within him.

 

He was a fiery, passionate man. Everyone around him said so. There were whispers that his heart had been forged in Nidavellir’s forges themselves, where the heat was enough to kill. And he rolled along with it, after all, it made sense: Asgard’s crown prince with a heart of fire, hot enough to burn his enemies.

 

Thor nudged Loki harder than he should’ve. His brother did not stir.

 

“Brother, brother, _please,_ this is NOT the place to fall.” When Loki stayed unconscious, Thor growled and threw his brother onto his back. “You imbecile-”

 

His eyes widened in horror. Oh, the humanity! What terrible thing he saw! How he had scrambled away when his eyes witnessed the disaster!

 

Where his brother’s face had touched cold snow, it was _blue._ Blue, of all colors. The blue of the _Frost Giants._ And for further proof there were swirls of dark navy along his cheek and temple.

 

The shock of the moment stayed with him. Thor bit his lip to keep from screaming. Was their father a liar? Had Loki been a _FROST GIANT the WHOLE TIME?_ What was going on?

 

The Frost Giants were the sworn enemies of the Asgardians. He’d been told – and still believed – that they deserved nothing but the spit on their bones once they were dead. Those horrible beings had once so boldly attacked Asgard’s subjects – that was something that their history would forever despise _._ It was engrained in many Asgardians, this mutual detestation.

He glanced down at his ‘brother.’ Did he deserve the cursed blessing that so many would’ve given him had they found out he was a frost giant? Would they have chased him out with fire and fury? Would he have done so to his own family?

 

Was he even his family anymore? This- _secret_ that Thor now knew. That Loki was a Frost Giant. His mind was a turmoil of thoughts.

 

_Oh Norns, I- I shouldn’t be near him._ He thought, almost panicked.

 

A bullet broke his thoughts, slicing into his shin. Thor leapt away from Loki’s body hissing, locking eyes with the assassin. The man who’d fired the projectile came closer, his blank eyes boring into the prince’s skull. Like some undead monster from the deep, he – or _it._ He hardly seemed alive – lumbered closer, the weapon now shiny black as opposed to the white before.

 

Thor put on his best angry face. Usually a glare alone would’ve deterred even the bravest monsters, but weirdly enough this opponent didn’t pale. He didn’t even halt in his steps, further reinforcing Thor’s tiny theory that, perhaps, this man wasn’t even living anymore. Like some creepily animated version of an automaton, he came, the distance between them ever smaller with each step.

 

He couldn’t be scared, he wasn’t the kind of person to admit it. But the adrenaline in his gut was no longer the fury of the battle, but rather the tension of a cornered animal. From his peripheral vision he could see more men emerging from the cold, more enemies with their painful little projectile weapons. What would they do if they caught him? Oh, he didn’t want to know.

 

And what of Loki? He was his brother, he was family, but he could’ve been good as dead now with that potentially fatal wound. And he was a frost giant. Would he save him, or would he run?

 

The soldiers fired at him again, several bullets finding his flesh. The latter won.

 

Without argument, he ran away, ran for freedom and over the hill. Away from the man he called his brother. The snow flew as he floundered down the slope. Behind him, he could hear footsteps, but it didn’t sound like the steps of many, and instead was the steps of one.

 

The assassin was chasing him. Thor felt his stomach seize. Why was he so _afraid?_ This was one man! He’d fought seventy at once before! All of his previous enemies had stood up bravely to him, like the fools they were, and fought with fervor and violence. The prince enjoyed his foes served angry and pissed.

 

Maybe that was why he ran.

 

White clumps flew hither-skitter as he landed. Something cold touched his mouth, and he spat out the snow. The frigid feeling still lingered.

 

He continued to flee from the assassin. A thud sounded behind him, and the adrenaline in his veins drove him further and faster. Not another sound could be heard as the man – his doom, more like – made his way towards him. The burning in his veins told him it wouldn’t be long before the fearful rush wore off, and he would falter.

 

Instinct drove him to act.

 

“HEIMDALL!” He shrieked, voice cracking. Any moment now!

 

_Norns below, hurry up, please…_

 

His prayers were answered. An incandescent beam of brilliant light tore through the very heavens themselves, coming down towards Thor with its merciful grasp. Gratefulness mingled in with the fear, only temporary relief to the terror he’d just experienced.

 

Through the roar of the Bifrost, he turned around, hoping that the man wouldn’t follow.

 

Cold eyes watched him as he disappeared.

* * *

 

It felt like ages before he finally made it to Asgard. The bright light faded as the Observatory came into view, and when he landed he collapsed, unable to support himself any longer.

 

Thor knelt there, breathing softly. So many thoughts whirled through his head; he kept seeing white, then red, then hollow eyes like polished stone boring into his soul. Who was that… no wait- _what_ was that thing? And Loki’s secret- did his brother even know? Who else knew? The tap of boots on the floor was hardly noticeable while he processed everything that’d just happened.

 

“Thor?” A deep voice asked. Heimdall knelt down beside the prince, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Snapping out of his trance, Thor turned to meet the watchman’s eyes, weary blue staring into goldenrod ones. As always, Heimdall had his wise deep look, but this time there was sadness and pity in those orange pools, as if he knew of what great tragedy had unfolded.

 

Which he did, of course. Thor wondered if he knew more than that.

 

“You’re- you’re hurt.” A dark hand came away from Thor’s shin, slick with vermillion. The gatekeeper’s brow furrowed. “Thor…”

 

“I’ll be fine.” The prince sputtered out, struggling to his feet. Heimdall grabbed his arm.

 

“I’m sorry.” He said plainly before the grip on Thor’s arm loosened.

 

The awkward ball in his stomach tightened. “I- I have to go.” He sprinted for the entrance, the rainbow bridge below his feet a shimmering array of vibrant colors. Mjolnir felt unwieldy in his hand.

 

“Wait- I’m supposed to announce your-”

 

Too late. Thor had already taken off before Heimdall could use Gjallar. The gatekeeper’s hand had only just grabbed the horn.

 

“…presence.” He finished.

 

Golden streets and buildings stretched below him as he flew, their colors light compared to the early dawn of the realm. Civilians, nobles and warriors milled around, blissfully unaware of the events that had occurred. The city was quite sedentary, much too sedentary, Thor thought. He would’ve been irked by this, but somehow there was no anger to give.

 

A braying sound behind him told him that Heimdall had blown his horn anyways. From the corners of his eyes, he could see Asgardians look up and wave to him, having been alerted of his return. He didn’t glance down.

 

The palace came into view, its exterior different from the secrets within. Weary, Thor quickly assessed the closest place to land: a balcony here, a window there, but even the closest spots weren’t right to him.

 

_You idiot; pick a spot already._ He scolded himself for his indecisiveness. Had he really been so affected by Loki’s differences? And that mindless hunter? With a spur of irritation, he soared down to a stone landing, nearly tripping when his feet touched the marble.

 

_“THOR!”_

Within seconds of his arrival, several boots clattered towards him, and Thor realized that where he had landed was right outside of the room his friends usually hung out in. Four relieved faces clamored around him, several questions being asked all at once.

 

“You’re all wet! What-”

 

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Why-”

 

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!” Thor screeched. For _fuck’s sake,_ he didn’t want this! Why couldn’t they see he was in _shock?_

 

Instantly they fell silent, each one with varying degrees of shame and some muttering “sorry” under their breaths. A moment of silence passed, Thor inhaling softly to calm himself down, and that moment of silence was broken by Sif.

 

“Sorry about that, but we were _really_ worried.” She sounded somewhat desperate. Thor ignored that. “Anyways- how’d it go? Did you find anything?”

 

When the prince said naught, her face turned sympathetic, and she patted him on the arm. “It’s okay if you didn’t succeed. Better luck next time, right?”

 

More silence. The conversation was beginning to get awkward now, everyone quietly expecting something more boisterous out of the prince. It was unusual to see Thor so… mellow. It was like the sky had fallen.

 

“Did something happen?” Sif asked.

 

_Something did happen._ “Nothing happened.”

 

She looked worried too; all of them did. And Heimdall. They were all worried.

 

“…Is something wrong?” She said softly, the usually bold girl so tender now.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Thor muttered. He strolled around them, lumbering towards the lit interior and away from the dawn. The prince could feel their pitiful gazes on his back.

 

He’d been lying ever since he got back. Wasn’t he a truthful man? Why were the words coming out of his mouth so wrong?

 

“Your Highness?”

           

A lilting question broke into his thoughts, and he turned to see Fandral push to the front of the group, sudden realization on his face.

 

“Thor…” He said slowly, “Where’s Loki?”

 

The ball in his belly twisted painfully. Right, _Loki._ His… false brother. His _frost giant_ of a brother. He knew, but his friends didn’t know.

 

But someone else did know.

 

He needed to talk to his father.

 

“I’m sorry I can’t answer that.” He promptly left the room, sprinting through the door.

 

“THOR!”  Fandral called after him. He didn’t hear it; he didn’t want to hear it.

 

Everything went by in a hasty blur as he tore down the hall. Yelps and cries of concern emitted from the servants as they scuttled out of the way to avoid his blind dash. It was a good thing they did too; Thor didn’t want to stop. The burning question was bright in his mind. He needed to ask his father, because no doubt his father _knew._ Loki had been “born” after the Jotun Invasion of Midgard, seemingly perfect timing for the younger prince, but him, a Jotun? Not unless his father had an affair with a giantess – unlikely, Odin was a loyal serious ruler, and frivolous acts of love were nothing he’d do – or stole a baby- No, wait, that must’ve been it: Odin must’ve swept a child away from the Frost Giants.

 

His father! A thief? A child-stealing thief? _Pre-Preposterous._ He thought.

 

Up ahead: a huge ornate door. His father’s bedroom.

 

Thor threw the door open.

 

It was spacious and empty; Odin was not the kind of person to accessorize. The arching ceiling was polished, reflecting everything on the ground below. A curved ornate bed, currently empty, sat on top of a small flight of stairs. That was the only true piece of furniture, for everywhere else was unoccupied by any inanimate object.

 

His father stood, solitary and quiet, in the centre of the room, facing away from his true son. The monarch was as still as the calm before a war.

 

“Father.” Thor choked out, his outrage no longer concealed, but rather, marred by his shock. This was it; this was the moment he’d unleash hell, broach the question that’d shake the world forever.

 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

 

The question came out of the blue, so blatant that Thor couldn’t respond. He simply just stood there, listening as his father spoke.

 

The king was silent again, before he took a shaky breath and continued.

 

“Your beautiful brother; dead.” Odin rubbed his face, and Thor figured he was… crying? Really? “And how old was he? Only nine hundred years? Just like you, Thor.”

 

Another inhale, then a regretful tone. “He had so much potential. A good child, and a well-thought one too. One in a million, truly. The very embodiment of Asgard.”

 

_But- but he’s a frost giant._ Thor wanted to yell. But he felt as if those words would choke him should he speak.

 

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve never sent the both of you down there.” At last his father turned, and Thor could see a silver track down one eye. “Your mother… she’ll be out for my blood, no doubt.”

 

“Ah, how folly our actions can be! A pity not all of us can see the future, that would’ve saved both you and I a great deal of hurt.”

 

_Should I have stayed?_ Thor continued to stay quiet.

 

“And I think myself to be a wise man.” Odin muttered finally.

 

At last, his father was done speaking. He could speak! Just ask the question, say that he knew the truth! _just say it, Thor. Say it. Say that you know the truth._

 

But he couldn’t.

 

His father’s words had left a profound impact on him. No, the truth wasn’t what he’d seen and knew, instead being what he realized. He _should’ve_ stayed. Loki _was_ his brother, no matter what. He was just like his father; believing himself to be right when in reality that assumption had blinded him. Such a selfish person he was.

 

So who was to blame then? Not Loki, but himself? Or his father for masquerading amidst the lies? Everything he knew raised more questions than answers.

 

Thor was no longer angry; he simply didn’t have the heart to be. No longer did that flame burn in his gut; it was now a cold blackened numbness, completely devoid of heat. He couldn’t be angry, not anymore. There was no fuel left to burn.

 

His father coughed, then turned to him. “Anyways… was there something you wanted to say to me? I apologize for my… lamenting.”

 

The prince grimaced.

 

“Nothing, nothing at all. I just came here to see if you knew.” Thor ambled towards the door, “It looks like you already did.”


End file.
